


Yesterday Upon The Stair

by eternaleponine



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: (Except ghosts aren't real...), 13daysofclexa, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Clextober, F/F, Ghosts, Halloween, Haunted Houses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 16:09:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16478720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternaleponine/pseuds/eternaleponine
Summary: Clarke's friends decide to have a contest to see who can stay in the town's haunted house the longest.  Clarke is sure she'll win, since she knows that ghosts aren't real, so houses can't actually be haunted.  So why is it that every time she looks away from the girl in the old-fashioned riding costume, she disappears?For Clextober 2018, based on a prompt from DreamsAreMyWords.





	Yesterday Upon The Stair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DreamsAreMyWords](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamsAreMyWords/gifts).



Trigeda Manor was haunted. Everyone knew it. After its original owner was run out of town, it had been a home for unwed mothers, a polio hospital, a sanitarium, and an old age home. With a history like that, how could it _not_ be haunted? 

_Or it would be,_ Clarke thought, _if ghosts were real._

But ghosts were not real. When you died, that was it. Sure, energy couldn't be created or destroyed, but Clarke just rolled her eyes at the people who tried to use that as a scientific rationale for the existence of a soul, or a spirit, or anything that could linger after a body was buried, or burned, or whatever those left behind decided to do with it. 

Ghosts weren't real; therefore, houses couldn't be haunted, and the money was as good as hers.

She wasn't sure who had come up with the idea originally, but somehow her friends had roped her into going to a Halloween party at the dilapidated old house that on every other day of the year was given a very wide berth. It was ten dollars to get in, and whoever stayed in the house the longest got to keep all of the money collected at the end. If more than one person made it all the way to the next morning, they would split the pot. 

Clarke knew she would make it 'til morning. She just had to hope that no one else did. 

The place was crowded at first; crowded enough that Clarke was honestly a little concerned about whether the structure could take it without something giving way. As the night wore on toward midnight, though, the crowd started to thin. Apparently some people had just come to say they partied at the haunted house, and considered ten bucks a reasonable price to pay for the opportunity. By the time the clock struck midnight, there were only a couple of dozen people left. 

Trouble was, there was no clock. 

Harper ducked like she'd heard a gunshot, her head whipping around as she tried to pinpoint the source of the noise. Monty grimaced as her fingers dug into his arm. "It's fine," he said. "I'm sure it's just in another room. Upstairs or something. It's fine."

"What kind of clock only chimes at midnight?" Miller asked. "We've been here for hours, and we didn't hear it before." 

"Maybe we just couldn't hear it," Monty suggested. "There were a lot of people here earlier. It was pretty loud." 

"It wasn't _that_ loud," Murphy said. "We would have heard it." 

"You know what?" Harper said. "I am not doing this. I'm out. Good luck to the rest of you." She looked at Monty, probably expecting him to follow, but he extricated his arm from her grip. 

"I think I'm going to stay a little longer," he said. 

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever," she said. "I can think of better things we could be doing, but if you want to stay here with the cobwebs and creepy-crawlies, be my guest." She pushed through the crowd and out the door. 

Jasper nudged Monty hard enough that he stumbled half a step to the side. "Go on, bro," he said, breathing out a stream of smoke. "Be a gentleman and walk her home. Make sure she gets tucked into bed safe and sound... and preferably naked... with you..."

Monty's cheeks flushed, and his eyes darted around to see who had heard. Jasper hadn't exactly been using his inside voice, so the answer was everyone. Everyone had heard, and those that weren't rolling their eyes were snickering. "I mean, I probably _should_ make sure—"

"If you leave, you don't get to come back," Bellamy said. "Those are the rules."

"Trust me," Jasper said. "That offer is worth way more than a couple of hundred bucks." 

"How would—" Monty started, then just shook his head. "I'll see you later," he said. 

"I better not see you until tomorrow," Jasper called to Monty's retreating back, "at the soonest!"

Clarke rolled her eyes and looked to see who from her group of friends was still here... and froze as she found herself snared by a pair of green eyes that were, even in the dim shifting light of the lanterns that were placed haphazardly around the main room, luminescent. If asked under oath, Clarke would have had to swear that she hadn't seen the girl until that moment, but how she'd missed her earlier in the evening she didn't know. 

For one thing, she was wearing a costume, and most people hadn't bothered to dress up. It hadn't been a requirement, and they were college students, which meant they were both broke and too old for trick-or-treating. Some people had made a token effort to wear something Halloween-y but most of them were just wearing whatever they'd thrown on that morning. Why bother putting on something nice when it might get coated in asbestos or lead paint chips or whatever other toxic substances were lurking in the cracks and crevices of a place this old and run-down?

For another, she was beautiful. Heart-stoppingly, jaw-droppingly gorgeous, and the way that her tan riding breeches hugged her hips and thighs, and the dark green riding coat skimmed over her curves, somehow flattening out and accentuating what was underneath all at once, made her sexy as hell. Her full lips curved into a teasing smile as she tipped her hat – a top hat! – at Clarke. 

"Hey Griffin," Raven said, sidling up next to her and bumping her with her hip. "What are you staring at?"

Clarke glanced over at Raven. "Do you know her?"

"Know who?" Raven asked. 

Clarke looked back to point the girl out, but she was gone. She pushed up on her toes, trying to see around people to find her again, but it was as if she'd just vanished. "Never mind," she said. "She must have gone into another room or something." 

"Right," Raven said. "Maybe you should stand a little farther away from Jasper before you _really_ start seeing things." 

"I'm not seeing things," Clarke said. "She was right there." 

"Okay," Raven said. "Well if you see her again, point her out." 

"I will," Clarke said defiantly. "I'm going to go get a drink. Of _water_ ," she added, lest Raven try to blame the disappearing girl on alcohol. She went over to the area that had been set up as an improvised bar and fished a bottle of water out of one of the coolers, cracking open the cap and taking a sip as she meandered through the room, hoping for another glimpse of the girl in the old-fashioned riding costume. 

She was ready to give up the search in frustration when the window shutters all slammed shut at once. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she flinched as the sound of shattering glass tinkling to the floor cut through the sudden silence in the deafening clatter's wake. "Holy shit," she breathed. "Holy... shit..." 

Several more people bolted for the door, clawing at it like they expected to find it locked. But it opened easily and they spilled out into the night, with Bellamy shouting after them that he would take their names off the list, and Jasper saying something about them being the weakest link. 

Clarke felt something brush against her hand and she yanked it back, clutching it to her chest, then nearly swung her fist at Octavia when she realized that she had been messing with Clarke, brushing the tip of her faux fur tail over her skin to startle her. 

"I hate you," Clarke grumbled. 

"I love you too," Octavia said. "Had enough yet?" She was determined that she and Lincoln would win and split the prize between them, and she had been taunting Clarke for the past week about how she shouldn't be so sure she had this in the bag, because pride goeth before a fall and all that. 

"Not even close," Clarke answered. 

"Maybe you should check out the library then," Octavia teased. 

"What library?" Clarke asked.

"At the end of the hall. They say there was a fire, and that the books went up like kindling and people got trapped in there, and now they're trapped forever and pissed about it."

"Being trapped forever in a library doesn't sound so bad to me," Clarke said. "Actually, if I believed in heaven, I might think that was it."

"You are such a nerd," Octavia said. 

"Thank you," Clarke said. She kept moving, making small talk here and there, trying to subtly ask if anyone else had seen the girl in the top hat, but no one seemed to know who she was talking about... or maybe they were just saying that to mess with her. Considering they were all here to win, a little psychological warfare wasn't out of the question, right? 

She eventually found herself standing outside of a set of wide, intricately carved doors. She twisted the knobs and pushed... and then pushed harder, and harder still because there was something blocking them. Probably she should have just left it, but she was curious. After a few good shoves she'd created an opening wide enough to slip through, and the first thing she saw was the flash of the skirt of a green riding jacket. "There you are," she said. "I was starting to think I'd imagined you after all." 

There was no answer, and when she got to the row of shelves that the girl had disappeared down, it was deserted. She peered around the end, and saw a door cracked open in the back corner. Leaning against the frame was the girl, wearing that same teasing smile as she crooked a finger at Clarke, beckoning her closer. 

Clarke flicked a glanced back the way she'd come, wondering if it was really a good idea to wander away from the main group. That always spelled disaster in horror movies...

_But you're not **in** a horror movie,_ she reminded herself. _And all of that stuff is fake anyway._ Except for the ones that were based on true stories... but those were usually just gory. Chainsaw massacres and that kind of thing, not... whatever this was. 

She half expected the girl would be gone again when she looked back at the semi-hidden door, but she was still standing there. Her beckoning finger turned to an extended hand, palm up like she was offering it to Clarke, or maybe to show that she had nothing to hide and meant her no harm. 

_You're being ridiculous,_ Clarke told herself. _It's just a girl in a costume. There's absolutely nothing to be afraid of._

She held out her own hand, and when the girl's fingers curved around hers they were like ice. She pressed the first finger of her free hand to her lips, signaling for Clarke to be quiet, and then she led her up a steep, narrow staircase with footsteps so light Clarke couldn't hear them at all, and she had no idea how she managed it because her own steps sounded unnaturally loud to her ears. 

Clarke followed her down a hall and into a room lit by candles and moonlight. Unlike every other room in the house, or at least the rooms Clarke had seen, it was free of dust and detritus. If Clarke didn't know better, she would think it had been maintained in exactly the state it had been left by its original inhabitant, kept clean as if they might return at any moment. Which was, of course, impossible. The house had been through too many changes in ownership and served too many purposes. But before she could question it she found herself pressed back against the door. "What—" Clarke started, but then the girl's lips were against hers and asking questions seemed silly. Her lips were as cold as her fingers, but they were soft and yielding and sent a shiver straight down Clarke's spine to her core that had nothing to do with temperature. 

Clarke brought her hands up to rest on the girl's hips, her fingers hooking into the material of her jacket and dragging her closer, as close as she could get, as their lips parted and the tips of their tongues met. They kissed until Clarke was breathless – the girl seemed unfazed, like oxygen was no concern of hers – and then kissed again as soon as Clarke was no longer in danger of going cyanotic. The girl's lips were warmer the second time, and Clarke couldn't help thinking about what other parts of her might be heating up, because she was sure as hell feeling a little hot and bothered. 

The girl pulled back, smirking like she'd heard Clarke's thoughts, and then she was kissing along her jaw, down her throat and back up again, teasing her earlobe with her tongue and then her teeth, and Clarke growled when she realized that the costume's high collar didn't allow her to do the same. She pushed her back just a little, creating enough space between them that she was able to pull the pin from her – would it be a cravat? Clarke didn't know, and quite frankly she didn't care about the appropriate terms for various pieces of historical dress, only in the most expeditious way to remove them. She kept her eyes fixed on the girl as she fumbled around, finally finding a surface to set the pin on, and then untied the band of cloth that circled her throat, letting it drop to the floor and attacking the buttons at her collar.

"You're so cold," Clarke whispered against the hollow of her throat, trailing kisses up the elegant column of it. "Why are you so cold?" Her words slid into the girl's ear as Clarke's lips brushed over it. She pushed her fingers into her hair, dislodging the top hat in the process (and Clarke had the vague thought that she was surprised it had managed to stay on this long) so it toppled to the floor and rolled under the bed. The girl made no move to retrieve it, only a soft amused noise as she followed its descent and subsequent disappearance. 

"And why are you so quiet?" Clarke asked, then looked her in the eye and held her gaze, steady and smoldering. "I hope you're not _always_ this quiet." 

The girl smiled, really smiled, and if Clarke had any doubts about what they were doing, they dropped away in an instant and their slow shuffling progress toward the bed took on the feeling of something inevitable. 

Piece by piece, their clothing came off. Clarke's hoodie and the girl's jacket landed on top of a chest at the foot of the bed, and after more than a little frustrated fumbling with a seemingly endless row of buttons, the girl's waistcoat joined them. Clarke's own Henley slid over her head easily, and she pressed into the girl's arms only to realize that there was no warmth to be found there. No physical warmth, anyway... the look in her eyes was enough to make Clarke flush from the inside out. It wasn't just lust, although there was certainly passion there. It was more than that. Her eyes shone with a desire that went deeper than the physical, even if Clarke couldn't put her finger on what made her sure of that. There was admiration in her gaze, appreciation... awe. Like she looked at Clarke and couldn't believe how lucky she was. Which was a ridiculously egotistical thing to think, but every time the girl's skin made contact with Clarke's it was like her emotions bled through, permeating the physical barrier between them and settling somewhere deep inside Clarke's mind... or maybe her heart. 

_Maybe you should slow your roll,_ she thought. _Past experience shows that letting yourself fall, even a little, for a one-night stand ends badly. You don't even know her **name**._

The girl's lips pressed against her neck, and she whispered... she must have whispered...

_"Alexandria, but my friends call me Lexa."_

"What should I call you then?" Clarke asked.

_"Anything you want, but hope that before the night is through, you'll want to call me yours."_

Clarke had laughed at the hopelessly cheesy line, even as her heart had melted at the earnestness of the delivery, like this girl – Lexa – really meant it. 

And now it was Lexa laughing at Clarke as she cursed at yet another series of buttons, and finally Lexa took her hands and kissed each one gently, then made quick work of those that remained, and there was nothing underneath the shirt. For a second it was a little hard to breathe as Clarke took in the expanse of pale skin, the soft curves of her breasts and the rose-pink of her nipples, and she didn't even try to resist the urge to reach for Lexa, to pull her close, her hands sliding under her shirt and up her back. But Clarke was still wearing her bra and it was too much. She tore at the hooks, yanking it off and letting it fall, then pulled Lexa in again and let out a shuddering breath as her own overheated flesh met Lexa's chill. 

They parted long enough to discard shoes and pants... and then panties when Clarke realized that Lexa wore nothing under her breeches, either... and then toppled onto the bed together in a tangle of limbs as they hurriedly sorted the way that their bodies fit together best. 

Clarke rolled Lexa onto her back, straddling her hips, and leaned down to kiss her, moaning softly when Lexa's hands slid up her thighs, and then louder when she slipped her hand between their bodies. One finger rubbed Clarke's clit as she rocked against Lexa, faster and harder, grinding against Lexa's hand as they kissed, and then everything went very still for a moment as she reached the edge from which she couldn't turn back, and with one final stroke, Lexa pushed her over, sent Clarke falling and falling and falling until she landed back in her body. She sprawled on top of Lexa, unable to even think about moving, but Lexa didn't seem to mind. If anything, she seemed pleased for the warmth and weight of Clarke's body on hers. 

Time passed. How much, Clarke didn't know or care. It probably wasn't more than a few minutes, although it felt like a beautiful eternity. When she could finally move again, she began at Lexa's forehead and worked her way down, touching every part of her, kissing the angles of her bones and the curves of her flesh, lavishing attention on her breasts and belly, over her hips and down her thighs and up again, dipping her tongue into her navel which made Lexa gasp with laughter, and then lower, deeper, which made her gasp with something else entirely. 

She was warmer now, Clarke thought, but not warm enough... not nearly warm enough. Clarke took her time stoking the fire, feeling the way that Lexa moved beneath and against her, listening to the changes in the sounds she made which seemed to resonate through Clarke's body rather than echoing in her ears. 

When Lexa finally came it was so intense that Clarke felt her own body clenching and releasing in response, and she shimmied up to wrap her arms around Lexa, yanking the thick blankets over them to keep in the heat that Clarke could feel pulsing beneath Lexa's skin. When Lexa kissed her, it was with a ferocity she hadn't shown before, almost desperation, and Clarke surrendered to it without question or complaint. 

She was vaguely aware of noises in the house, of things happening around them, but they felt distant and unimportant as Lexa teased first one breast, then the other with her tongue, bringing Clarke's nipples to hard pebbled peaks, sucking them and then letting them go with a wet pop before disappearing under the covers. Clarke spread her thighs and moaned right along with the trees outside, or maybe it was the eaves... it didn't matter, all that mattered was Lexa's long, deft fingers between her legs, buried deep, working inside of her as her tongue worked without, and her body buckled with a series of crescendos that were torn from her like screams, until she finally collapsed back, spent, with only just enough energy to wrap herself around Lexa before consciousness left her completely.

* * *

Clarke woke alone, shivering under the thin cover of a sleeping bag, huddled in a rickety old cot in a room that looked nothing like it had the night before. Her clothing was strewn across the floor, some of it tossed haphazardly over a busted footlocker near her feet. Her heart started to pound, and her eyes filled with tears. 

"Lexa?" she called, even though she knew there would be no answer. 

Had she dreamed it? It was the only explanation... and yet she could still taste Lexa on her tongue, still feel her teeth scraping ever so gently against her nipple, still feel her fingers curling inside of her... She could remember clearly the intensity of her orgasms, ripples upon waves upon tsunamis of pleasure like she'd never felt before. Her body ached with it in all the best ways, and she could feel the slick residue of lovemaking between her thighs.

"Lexa?" she called again, crawling out of the bag and scrambling into her clothes. "Where are you?" She searched the room, even though there was nowhere in there Lexa could be hiding, and then the next, and then the next, until she'd gone through every room upstairs and found nothing but splintered wood and broken glass and spiders far larger than spiders had any right to be. 

She clattered down the steps, stumbling because she was going too fast and there was no handrail and just barely catching herself before she went ass over teakettle. The library was empty, of people anyway, but Clarke kept calling for Lexa anyway, until a picture on the mantel caught her eye and sucked the air from her lungs.

It was a picture of a girl in a riding costume: breeches and boots and jacket and neckcloth held with a pin and a top hat to round it all out. She was staring at the camera unsmiling, but there was something in her eyes, a flicker of laughter or mischief, the expression of someone who never backed down from a dare. 

Clarke picked up the frame, surprised to find that there wasn't a speck of dust on it to obscure the image, or the inscription beneath it: Alexandria Woods, and a span of years, both of which were more than a century in the past, and which showed that her life had lasted only two decades before ending. 

"No," Clarke said, the impossible image blurring as her eyes filled with tears. "No."

"Clarke?"

Clarke looked up sharply, hope kindling and then dying when she saw that it wasn't Lexa calling, it was Raven. "Go away," she said, clutching the picture to her chest. 

"You won," Raven said. "Hours ago. We all..." She shivered and shook her head. "We tried to find you, but it was like you just disappeared, and it seriously sounded like the place was going to collapse any second, and..." She swallowed. "Anyway, you won. So can we go now?"

"Go without me," Clarke said. "I don't give a shit about the stupid contest. Just go."

"Uh, no," Raven said. "No way. Get up. We're leaving." 

Clarke started to object, but what was the point? There was nothing for her here. The edges of the frame dug into her ribs as she hugged it against her and let Raven lead her to the door. 

Raven stopped halfway to the car when she realized what Clarke was carrying. "You should put that back," she said. "I don't think you should take anything from this house." She reached like she was going to try to take the picture away and Clarke clutched it tighter.

"No!" she said, although it came out as more of a whimper. "She's _mine_!" 

"Seriously, Clarke," Raven said. "I think this place has fucked with your head. Just put it back and—" She stopped, her eyes wide and fixed on the house. "Who the—"

"Lexa!" Clarke stumbled a few steps toward her, then stopped, looking at the picture, then looking at the girl in the picture who was standing uncertainly in the doorway. Her foot hovered at the threshold like she wasn't sure if she could step over it. Clarke approached more slowly, stopping a few feet away, looking back and forth between the picture and the girl. "Is this...?" Lexa nodded. "But how...?" Clarke bit her lip, swallowed. "Ghosts aren't real," she said. 

Lexa lifted one shoulder and let it fall. "Maybe," she said, and Clarke realized that this was the first time she was actually _hearing_ her voice; everything else she'd heard had been in her own head, a dream or... she didn't know. "Maybe not. But if someone puts enough of themselves into one, if someone wants it badly enough, they can _become_ real."

Clarke took a step back, edging down the porch steps before beckoning to Lexa, just as Lexa had from the secret library door. Lexa kept her eyes on Clarke and placed her foot carefully on the porch, then brought the other up to meet it... and she was still there. Clarke held out her hand, palm up, and Lexa took another step, and then another, nearly tripping down the stairs in her haste, but Clarke was there to catch her. 

When their mouths met, Lexa's was warm, so warm, and her breath swirled in wisps from her lips in the chilly air, and Clarke could feel her frantic pulse against her lips as she kissed her throat. 

"Clarke?" Raven asked. "Who the—who is that?"

Clarke lifted her head from Lexa's shoulder but didn't quite dare look away from her face, afraid she might disappear again. "Her name is Lexa," she said, "and she's mine." She reached up to touch her face, drawing her down into a tender kiss. "And I hope before the day is done, you'll want to call me yours."


End file.
